


The Devil Will Drag You Under

by HYPERFocused



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Earth, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, McShep Match Challenge, McShep Match Challenge 2012, Stargate Atlantis AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HYPERFocused/pseuds/HYPERFocused
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the boat starts a‘rocking, don‘t come a knocking; or John Sheppard and that guy from Gen!Us. No, not<br/>that guy. The other one.<br/><b>Disclaimer:</b> This record is intended for promotional use onl--oh, wait. I meant “Not my characters, no profit made.”<br/><b>Warnings:</b> Beware of Earworms, mention of past partner betrayal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil Will Drag You Under

**Author's Note:**

> Written for McShep_Match 2012, I was on the winning Team Space. Very loosely based on the 2007 film _Music &Lyrics_, but you don‘t need to have seen it to get this. To put it in terms most can easily grasp:  
> Gen!Us =Wham!  
> Daniel Jackson=George Michael (with a heaping helping of George Clooney).  
> (Meredith) Rodney McKay =Andrew Ridgely, aka “That other guy, you know, the one who left to race cars, or something“.  
> John Sheppard=Rodney‘s new muse.  
> Title from the musical _Guys and Dolls_ , the song ”Sit Down, You're Rocking the Boat."

The Devil Will Drag You Under

__  
"Song- Stupid In Love  
Artist- Gen!Us:  
Dir- Evan Lorne  
Year-1985" 

_Meredith:_

_“I've calculated most of Pi,_  
The paths of stars across the sky,  
Yet I cannot tell just why,  
You left me for another guy.” 

_Daniel:_

_“I'm fluent in most every tongue,_  
I've loved you since we both were young,  
I thought that we two could be one,  
Until you said that we were done. 

_Both:_

_I'm a genius,_  
But I'm stupid in love.  
Yes, I mean this,  
I'm no Cupid, at love. 

_Daniel:_

_I'd like to read you like a book,_  
If only you would let me look,  
Lost artifacts to rediscover  
The myth of why you're not my lover. 

_Meredith:_  
I wish that I could engineer  
Technology to keep you near  
And tell you I still hold you dear  
To lose you is my biggest fear. 

_Both:_

_I'm a genius,_  
but I'm stupid in love,  
Don’t demean this  
When the push comes to shove.  
Yes, I've seen bliss  
Make me stupid in love. 

_\--- Stupid in Love, by Gen!Us. Music & Lyrics by Meredith R. Mckay and Daniel Jackson_. 

 

> Gen!Us was one of the biggest bands of the '80s, but today they're mainly known as Daniel Jackson's old group. Daniel, or as he's been dubbed by the queen, “Sir Daniel" has gone on to sell millions of records, star in blockbuster films. and create his own cologne, Sha-ré so named because both men and women could share it.

> But here's a question: Are you smart enough to remember the name of the _other_ guy in Gen!Us? Whatever happened to Meredith McKay? --I love the 80s:Where Are They Now Edition

 

Flipping off the TV, and flipping it the bird, for good measure, Meredith McKay (now using “Rodney“ because “Mer” had disappeared about the time that Gen!Us did) was irked. “Where am I _now_? They can't even get ‘where was I then’ right. The 80s loved me, too. It‘s just that the 21st century is shallow. Damn Daniel’s pretty face, and ridiculously large biceps,” Rodney groused, disgusted with himself for talking back to the TV like an imbecile. No, the thing to do was get online and let the real idiots know why they were so very _wrong_. Loading up Twitter, Facebook, and the VH1 Classic message boards, he cracked his knuckles and settled down to refute.

 

> If you're of a certain generation, one likely to feel much too young for the ‘music of your life’ to properly be termed as “oldies,” then you very likely remember where you were the first time you heard Gen!Us play their first big hit, “Stupid in Love.” (You were probably swilling down a New Coke in your school lunch room, or watching the now classic -- and only a little dated -- video on Night Flight.) There was just something about the duo of Daniel Jackson (now Sir Daniel) and Meredith McKay (now going by his more pedestrian middle name, Rodney) that seemed to speak of flash in the pan impermanence. Not that it wasn't a very flashy pan indeed. McKay playing his complex synthesizer compositions dressed like a New Wave cupid, fey and golden haired; while Jackson’s cozy white-sweatered “hot professor” look, intricate guitar work and many-layered lyrics flowed like an ancient, alien language from his adept fingers. 

> Talented, and brightly poppy as the duo might have been, it wasn't a sound meant to last the ages, or even beyond Pop Up Videos, or the State Fair circuit. Of course, seeing his first band’s star go dim was not an issue for Time Magazine’s Performer/Activist of the Decade, Sir Daniel Jackson. It proved entirely too mortifying for the creatively blocked Rodney McKay, whose later work was never able to live up to Gen!Us‘ early promise. When asked about this disparity, he would just say “Meredith was the composer,” dismissively, as if they were not one and the same. “Rodney just parrots the work of Meredith’s youth.” -- from smART: The Story of Daniel Jackson, and Gen!us.

 

“Daniel Jackson and Gen!Us.“ That was rich. It was like reading about “Sting and the Police.“ Sure it was just a crappy by-the-numbers biography, culled primarily from old magazine articles. But somehow it all seemed to focus on Daniel, who, yes, was much more famous _now_ , but back in ‘85 it had been the two of them equally who enchanted audiences. Of course by the time they broke up in ‘91, Daniel had won his first solo Grammy, for a song that they _both_ had been toying with for ages, meant to go on _Redemption_ their now aborted third album, the one that was supposed to be their big comeback. Not that Rodney had been properly credited. It was only the threat of a lawsuit that got an acknowledgement “brainstorming assistance from M.R. McKay.” 

Disgusted all over again, Rodney tossed the flimsy paperback away. It nearly hit the cat, Moog, who yowled with kitty aggravation. “I know exactly what you mean, Moogie.” 

 

> Despite Rodney’s confidence in his own _technical_ musical competence, all it took for his faith in his _creative_ ability to shrivel up completely, was Augustus Kolya’s Rolling Stone review of his first post Gen!Us solo work, _A Dog‘s Breakfast in America_ , calling him a fine clinical player, but with no sense of the art

> Jackson's reviews were as bright as McKay's were dim. It was Daniel who got all the accolades now.

> Jackson, once a feathered haired bookworm, had developed a Springsteen-esque love for the gym. The metamorphosis turned him from an adorable geek into a major player on the Hollywood scene, with an unprecedented seventeen covers on Stargate Magazine. Daniel, whose signature unisex cologne, Sha-ré was a main-stay on both women and men’s dressers and dressing tables. And Daniel, whose embittered (personal and professional) split with Meredith had erupted into what was inarguably his best, most personal work: the triple platinum _Triptych: Meridian /Fallen /Homecoming._

> The album, _Trip_ , as it came to be known by fans, lived up to its name: a meandering journey of a man searching for a middle ground between losing his way, and discovering the strength to find home. It cemented Jackson’s permanent place in Rock & Roll history. -- Behind the Music: The Daniel Jackson Story.  
> 

Hey, Rodney groused, watching yet another music show get it wrong -- ADBIA wasn't a total dud. Besides the smaller number of Gen!Us diehards he still attracted, there were at least a few old Supertramp aficionados who bought the record under the mistaken impression it was a long lost live performance. It was fine with Rodney. He didn't begrudge sales, even when they came from “stoner idiots.” Hell, especially when they came from stoner idiots, who might forget what they'd done and buy multiple copies.

Rodney’s attempts to work out his issues about the end of their relationship just came out as discordant angry experiments that cramped his hands as he pounded the keys. 

None of it was right, or fair, even if no one but Rodney knew it. It was funny. Not funny-ha ha, but funny-this-is-fucking-stupid. Daniel treated the break-up like an intellectual exercise, a lesson learned. Like everything else in his all-too-examined life. Sometimes Rodney thought Daniel’s whole musical career was just some social experiment for an anthropology class. It was just the kind of sanctimonius soft-science shit he would pull.

Lessons were never the problem. Neither he nor Daniel had anything lacking on the intelligence front. Rodney had earned his first PhD in Mechanical Engineering at nineteen, and Daniel his first in linguistics the same year. They'd met over his Yamaha DX7 and Daniel’s ridiculous double-necked guitar at a MENSA mixer, and by the time they’d exhausted the Ziggy Stardust vs. Thin White Duke argument, there was a crowd of listeners tossing dollars in Daniel’s guitar case, and Rodney’s parachute pants (God, what had he been thinking?) held a business card from a tiny, bespectacled, Czech promoter who went by the ridiculous moniker “Rad Zee“, as if Radek Zelenka was that hard to spell.

Radek (you could not pay Rodney enough to call him “Rad”) had proven to be an excellent manager, and an even better friend. It was Daniel’s loss that he'd let Radek go, replaced instead by the beautiful, but controversial, Vala Mal Doran. She had been accused on more than one occasion of stealing acts out from under their existing representation.

Okay, it wasn't Daniel’s loss. Vala had done very well by him, but Rodney knew she'd throw him to the wolves if she found herself a shinier toy.

There was public talk about Daniel and Vala’s private life together, but Rodney knew from experience it was likely just that--talk. Though Daniel had never confirmed the details of his sexuality to the press, he'd never denied any of it, either. “How does it matter who you think shares my bed? Does it change the way you hear my music? Are the notes different? No.”

Rodney knew it was a fairly open secret that Daniel was sharing his bed with an older American Air Force Colonel, or possibly General by now, Jack O’Neill. They'd met when O’Neill had been hired as military consultant for Daniel’s first major movie role in _Children of the Gods_. Gen!Us had been “On hiatus” at the time, which was really just saying “We have no idea where we're going from here. But it probably isn‘t anywhere good.” The same could have been said about Rodney and Daniel’s relationship, and that was even before the so-called “Silver Fox” got his paws on the ”Golden Boy.” 

 

> With unexpected opportunity for (probably minor) fame, and (most likely meager) fortune awaiting them, it was no big sacrifice to forego Physics -- Rodney, and Neuro-linguistics -- Daniel, in favor of groupies and green-backs. Just how many of each they managed to acquire based on “Stupid in Love“, had more to do with the hook heavy tune‘s use as the theme for the teen medical prodigy show, _Jennie Keller, M.D_ , than any real work either had put towards the touring grindstone.

> Now, twenty-odd years later, Daniel has an Oscar on his mantel, and an induction in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. --Daniel Jackson:The Genius of Love-The Love of Gen!Us

 

Rodney had not been invited, despite appearing at Cedar Point Amusement Park that week, which meant they wouldn't even have had to shell out for airfare to include him in the festivities. 

If pressed, Rodney is forced to admit, he shouldn't knock what meager amount of fame he still possessed. He had a new gig, Rodney (Meredith) McKay “celebrity” musical guest on the _Sea Sheppard_. Yes, there had been quotes around “celebrity”, as if Rodney was only playing at being famous. He'd bet Daniel would never be referred to so dismissively. Not that Daniel would ever be caught stuck on the cruise circuit, or God forbid, theme parks, but Rodney’s luck was on a markedly lower level. He might not be topping the charts, or hell, making a dent on radio or Itunes with any of his post-Gen!Us repertoire, but he still had a musical career, of sorts.

He'd been a bit horrified, at first, when Radek suggested the Sheppard cruise job. Who wanted to be stuck on a ship with no way to escape any stalkery fans? True, there probably weren't all that many, but all it took was one, and he'd be trussed up in the wacko’s cabin like the guy in Misery. But Radek convinced him of the job’s merits, as well as the merits of having any kind of gig, at all. A long term engagement, with decent perks. An ocean view (okay, only a few unobscured inches). Excellent food of every cuisine (probably dripping in citrus likely to kill him), plenty of curvy blondes in bikinis (too often destined to ignore him) or slim-hipped brunets in board shorts (ditto).

* * *

When John Sheppard came back to Virginia to help settle his dad’s estate, John’s brother David strongly “suggested” John get more involved in the family business “instead of hiding out in the middle of nowhere, doing God knows what,” John wanted nothing more than to give Davy the old one-fingered salute. 

Instead, he said “Inside a war zone, flying people to safety. Or trying to, at least. Of course none of them were millionaires, so I suppose it wouldn't count in yours or Dad’s book.”

“You don't know a damn thing about Dad, and you never cared to learn.”

“Yeah, well, how well do you think Dad tried to really know me?”

“He knew you well enough to see that you were wasting your future, He always said you could have aimed higher than the Air Force.”

“Funny. That doesn't sound like Dad.” He'd never known the man to show much wit, or humor. 

David sighed, “Yeah, he laughed at himself after he said it. But it’s true. He really didn't get why you would want to be part of an organization that wouldn't let you be all you can be.” 

“Okay, there is no way in hell Dad used both of those expressions in the same conversation. Next thing you'll be trying to tell me he said I should look for a few good men.”

“No, he was pretty sure you'd already done that.” David gave a mirthless laugh.

“What are you talking about?” John knew. He just didn't think his dad had. 

“Your Big Gay Secret was neither big, nor all that secret. Jesus, John. You can't have thought you were hiding anything with your ridiculous haircut, not to mention a marriage that never seemed quite real. Even if Dad never knew for sure, it was made very clear to the rest of us when you brought that Roman guy home for Dad’s funeral.” 

“His name’s Ronon, and he’s not...We're not--he's a tactical consultant.” Damn it, he shouldn't have to justify his sex life, or even the lack of one. 

“If you say so. Anyway, Dad knew. Didn't much like it, but he knew.” 

“Yes, because he never did anything we didn't like.” Like driving their mother to an early grave. 

“Well, he came around before he died. Said he didn't mind so much if you were ‘that way,’ as long as you didn't flaunt it, or like, you know, wear the family crest in one of those parades.” 

“I spent most of my adult years in the military. I've never been to that kind of parade. They're not too big on rainbow flag waving. I'd say something about the few, and the proud, but I'm not feeling all that much levity at the moment.” 

“Look, John.” His brother held out his hands, placatingly. “Dad’s gone now. If he'd had the chance to make things right with you, I'm sure he would have done it.” 

“He had plenty of opportunities to tell me I'm _not_ the fuck-up he always said I was.” This conversation wasn't taking them anywhere good. John knew his mother had loved him, but his father? John imagined his dad felt nothing more than resigned obligation.

“I know what you think, but you're wrong. He loved you. Maybe he didn't understand you, but he loved you.” 

“He didn't try all that hard to get to know me when he could have. It‘s not like I was on another planet.”

“Maybe not, but you sure did everything in your power to stay away. You wouldn't, or couldn't, face him. Honestly, it’s a wonder you never saw eye to eye. You may have wanted different things, but when it comes to temperament you were more alike than not.”

“I doubt that.” 

“Stubborn. Driven. Loyal when it counts. You know, once he found out what really happened in Afghanistan, he was so proud of you, and so angry on your behalf.”

“I wish I had known that. If it’s even true, I wish I had heard it from him.” John wasn't convinced. He'd never discussed his black mark with his father, but he shouldn't be surprised he'd dug for information behind his son’s back.

“It’s true, he never liked that you'd gone and _stayed_ in the military. He thought it was unnecessary when you were smart enough to do anything.”

“What kind of elitist asshole thinks only stupid people get to be Air Force pilots, or, hell, officers?”

“It’s not that. He just thought--hoped--you would want to get involved in Sheppard Industries.“ 

“I never really had any interest in utilities.” Or nepotism. Or pretty much anything else his father’s name emblazoned. 

“Utilities, no, but what about SITE?”

SITE was Sheppard Industries Travel Experience, a mid-sized cruise line, and a small fleet of private jets that celebrities and CEOs, or anyone else with money to waste could lease. John wanted nothing to do with it. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“You're going to have to do something about it. He left it to you. It was always supposed to be yours. You were the wandering one, he said. You‘d do well by it.” 

“That was a surprisingly thoughtful thing for him to say--or do. But really, I don‘t see myself in the luxury travel field.” 

“Don't dismiss it out of hand. I could --the company could-- really use your help. Now that you've got some time on your hands, I mean.”

“You know, I do have plans for my civilian life.” He didn't, so much, other than ‘not live off my family name.’

“I'm serious. Besides the fact that it’s yours, _The Sea Sheppard_ needs an unbiased observer. Someone to travel incognito and see what works, and what doesn't.”

“What, like a ‘Mystery Cruiser’? And what makes you think I‘d be unbiased?” 

“Exactly like that. And I think you'd be fair. No matter how angry you are at Dad for dying without giving you both a chance to make things right, or me for having the father-son relationship you never did, you‘d be honest. You've never suffered fools.”

“I'm not angry at you, and there’s no point in being angry at Dad. So yeah, I'll do it. You know, I still can't believe none of Dad’s people ever told him that _  
The Sea Sheppard_ might not be the best name for his ship.”

“Well, he did get some interesting mail, that he mostly just passed on to the authorities. And once in a while someone on board will ask when the whaling boat will come into view, and just how the takeover’s going to work.” 

John laughed. He'd suggested the name as a joke, a fuck you to his dad, never imagining it would be taken seriously. “All right. So, tell me how this is going to work. What, am I supposed to be on the staff? Because I don't look like Julie, and I can’t tend bar like Isaac…” 

“Well, there’s always Gopher. But no it’s best that you play yourself, pretty much. You know, Air Force, just out of the service. Using banked up vacation pay to take a cruise and de-stress.” 

“Only don't use my real name?” 

“Not the ‘Sheppard’ part, anyway.”

“That‘s probably best.” If he had to go by another first name, he might not respond as quickly when someone addressed him. That was something he'd learned on a few clandestine inter-personal missions -- so to speak  
.

* * *

After his first full night on the ship, once he'd gotten used to its not-so-slight rocking, Rodney took a discerning look around. There was a guy there, dark hair that spiked in every direction, greenish brown eyes, a bit of a crooked nose, a bow of a mouth, and ears that would have looked right at home on Elrond.

Taken individually, the man's features wouldn't seem to add up to much, but when Rodney put them all together, the solution came up "hot." 

Rodney didn't know who he was, but over the next few days or so, he had certainly noticed him. Noticed him running around the deck when Rodney went up to get some fresh air. Noticed him in Teyla’s class, climbing the ersatz rock wall, long legs, and lean line of his back and ass beckoning Rodney to try more athletic exercises than he'd ever considered before. He'd even noticed him in one of the ship’s several kitchens, chatting with the chefs. Rodney had just gone in there to make doubly certain the food wasn't going to kill him.

* * *

Five days later, John “Patrick” boarded _The Sea Sheppard_ for a three week cruise. A pilot recently returned from a war zone, he'd surely earned some long-needed rest and relaxation. 

That was what he and Dave had put together to tell people. He'd stayed far enough away from Patrick Sheppard’s business that no one on the ship would recognize John as his son. Mostly it was a true story, except where he didn't mention he was now the major owner of the cruise line.

It wouldn't matter, anyway. John was unlikely to meet anyone he'd want for more than a minor fling, if that. And really, the whole casual thing never suited him. It was just sometimes a necessity when he couldn't afford to be honest. 

To be honest, John liked being on the cruise more than he'd expected. Of course he didn't expect to like it much at all, so this was a plus. There was some interesting people-watching to do. Yes, much of what that entailed was meant to eke out the flaws and strengths of the cruise line, and by extension, SITE. Exploring some of the ports, as a tourist, was different. The brochures were right, the view was amazing. Art Deco styled windows striped vibrant sunlit colors in elegant patterns. It really was relaxing. Walking on the deck, watching the blue-green water, made him feel at home in a way he could not name, but it was so, so familiar.

The other thing that felt familiar was hearing and seeing the ship’s music director. John didn't quite recognize the name, Rodney McKay, but he would have sworn he'd heard him play before. It took a few listens before it came to him. Rodney was _Meredith_ McKay. Half of the band Gen!Us, back in the day. God, John had loved “Stupid in Love” when it came out. He'd even liked “Prime/Not Prime” because quirky pop songs about math were forever up John’s alley.

Hell, John was pretty sure Rodney was up his alley, too, or at least could be if he wanted to be there. He'd changed a lot from the young curly-haired blond he'd been, but he still had the same arresting blue eyes John remembered from Gen!Us’ videos. Now, though, his shoulders had broadened, his hair had thinned a little, and darkened to a more adult light brown. He still had the same amazing ass, though. John didn’t get much of a chance to see it while Rodney was at the keyboard, but he did see it when John had gone to get a little distance and exercise on one of the upper decks. He hadn’t approached Rodney then. It looked like he was in equal need of space and reflection, and John understood exactly how that felt.

* * *

So far, Rodney had managed to avoid food poisoning, deathly allergic reactions, and abduction by pirates. (Okay, that last one was unlikely, but hey, he and his sister, Jeannie had pilfered their mother's trashy romance novels at an impressionable age.). That made things about even, he thought.

Sometimes, though, sometimes he totally lucked out. Sometimes someone lanky, crazy-haired and hot--don’t forget ‘hot’-- slouched his way up to Rodney’s piano, and drawled out “Y’have any cash?”

“What, you need change? Too cheap to tip me a twenty?”, Rodney said, laughing. He knew the guy meant Johnny. It was fun just fucking with him. 

It would have been more fun fucking him, Rodney imagined. Not that he’d get the chance. Whichever way Hair Guy swung, it was unlikely to be towards (brilliant) slightly paunchy, has-been pop stars with a marginally expanding forehead. 

Still, Rodney went to work. He improvised his way into something resembling Ring of Fire --if the Ring was a pan-dimensional jaunt through the multiverse, and the Fire was a nuclear missile. Rodney would know. His Grade 6 science fair project had been a working (if only he could get the plutonium) model of an atomic bomb. His hard work had kicked him in the ass there, too, placing him on the CIA‘s watch list for years to come. It was a toss-up whether they meant to hire him, or fire on him. The Trust had been on his case, as well, trying unsuccessfully to recruit him. Because Rodney wasn’t a Fascist, Thank-You-Very-Much.

Even though he wasn’t that kind of piano player, Billy Joel’s ubiquitous classic made Rodney’s teeth hurt, he had no problem with taking this request. Sure, the middle aged women who made up much of _The Sea Sheppard_ ’s passenger list wanted to hear “Stupid in Love”, and a handful were big enough “Mer-Maids” to request “Prime/Not Prime (3 is not a Magic Number when You 2 Leave Me 1)”.

Rodney didn’t know what he’d been thinking when he came up with that title, and he could hardly blame Weird Al for twisting it into “Grade D Hamburger (Not Fit 4 U 2 Eat)”

“Thank you. You know, you’re very good.” Hair Guy held out a (nice, firm, warm) hand, and said “John.”

“Yes, I know what I was playing. Though I‘m fairly certain he went more by ‘Johnny‘”

“No, I meant my name is ‘John‘. And you’re Meredith McKay. What in the world are you doing slumming on a ship like this?”

My God his lips were amazing. Rodney wanted to nibble on them like one of the rich pastries he'd been having with breakfast. “I go by Rodney, now, at least with people who really know me.” Please get to know me.

“Okay, Rodney, then. I‘m very glad to finally meet you, and I‘d definitely like to get to really know you.” He still hadn‘t taken his hand off Rodney‘s arm, and Rodney sure wasn‘t going to make him.

“I‘d like that, too, John…” Rodney waited expectantly to hear his full name.

“S --Patrick. John Patrick.”

Okay, that was a little weird. Rodney didn‘t know why he‘d just been given a fake name, but it probably had something to do with being in the (bigoted, backwards) U.S military. 

“Sure, ‘John‘. You know, I am Canadian.” 

“What‘s that supposed to mean?” John‘s quizzical expression was absolutely not ridiculously appealing.

“I mean, I know you‘ve been in the military, and you‘re probably used to needing to keep certain things circumspect, but that isn‘t necessary here, with me.”

“Air Force, yes, but no. Look, maybe we could go somewhere a little out of the way, and talk.”

“Ok, you‘ve said ‘yes‘, ‘no‘, and ‘maybe‘ in the same two sentences. So, sure. We can find someplace to talk.” Or whatever.

* * *

John mentally kicked himself for making it so obvious he was using a false name. But then he thought about it, and realized he didn‘t have to lie. He wasn‘t sure how he knew, but he was certain Rodney would play along.

“Great, then. Come on, I know a good place.” John walked with Rodney to a room off a small alcove that was nearly always empty. Looking around to make sure no one could see, he dug out a key-card and opened the door into one of the few nice private staff cabins. It was really more of a lounge, but either way, it wasn‘t a place passengers knew.

“Are you sure you‘re supposed to be in here?” Rodney was clearly dubious. “I mean, I‘m employed here, and even I can tell this is meant for the owners. The Sheppards.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine,“ John deflected. “Just out of curiosity, what do you know about the Sheppards?” He couldn‘t wait to hear.

“I know they make fairly impressive cruise ships, and I‘m told their planes are equally nice if you‘re rich or pretentious enough.”

“And you‘re not either one?” John laughed to show he was kidding.

Rodney looked at him funny, and said. “My god, you‘ve got a terrib--terrifying laugh. And no, I‘m definitely not rich. Being a has-been pop-star doesn‘t pay as well as one would expect. Why do you think I have this oh-so-illustrious job? It doesn‘t do much for my ego, either, knowing my gifts are likely to go almost completely unappreciated in my lifetime. If only I‘d stuck with science, I‘d almost assuredly have a Nobel by now.”

“What field?”

“I have a PhD in Mechanical Engineering, but I’ve always felt my greatest strength would be in Physics. Astrophysics, really.” 

“But you decided music really was rocket science?”

“Oh, fuck you, Flyboy. You think you’re so clever.” Rodney smacked John with a brochure he’d idly picked up off the coffee table.

“Flyboy, huh?” John raised an eyebrow. “I did pass the MENSA test.”

“Seriously, what is it with me and guys in MENSA? Or girls, for that matter?”

“I don’t know, smart is sexy? I know I’ve always thought so. Anyway, I never actually joined. Did you?” 

“Unfortunately, yes. It’s where I met Daniel.” His lopsided mouth flattened unhappily. It was not a look John enjoyed seeing.

“I knew you guys had been a duo, but I hadn’t realized you were, you know, a _duo_.“

“Honestly, neither aspect is a memory I recall with much fondness.” The unhappy look got worse. Damn.

“I’m sorry. If I can ask, what happened?”

“Daniel needed a serious operation, and we decided mutually it wasn’t smart for Gen!Us to stay together.”

“Surgery? Really? I don’t remember hearing anything about that. Not that I’ve ever followed Daniel Jackson all that closely.” No, it had always been Rodney, well, Meredith, that did it for him.

“Yes, he needed to remove my foot from his ass. I’m told it was rather painful. But then again, watching him steal all the spotlight, get sole credit for work we’d done together was equally excruciating.”

John was sure the agitated Rodney was going to pace a hole through the rug. “So it was more of a professional split?” 

“Sure, if you want to call dumping me for the first Air Force Colonel to give you pointers for your first big movie role, professional.” 

“Okay, that sounded very familiar. I‘m sorry, though.”

“You probably read about it in the tabloids, or saw it on E!”

“No, actually I think I know the Colonel in question. Jack O’Neill, right?”

“Please don’t tell me he was your commanding officer.” 

“No, I’ve just flown him a few times. He seemed ok. Kind of a smart-ass, but so am I.”

“He may very well be less of an asshole than Daniel.” 

The sun was starting its descent into the water, making John remember that he’d taken Rodney to this private spot for a reason, and they’d gotten completely side-tracked. 

“To tell you the truth, Rodney, I don’t really care about Daniel Jackson. He was never the genius I went for.”

“Even now that I’m not quite so fit and youthful?” 

“Especially now. I don’t know, you’ve grown in to yourself, if that makes any sense.” John shrugged.

“It does, in a weird way.“ Rodney quirked him a grin. “Thanks.” 

“Speaking of honesty, what I wanted to say, what I needed to tell you, is I‘m not exactly who I said I am.”

“You mean you‘re not John Patrick, handsome, closeted, ex-Air Force pilot? Color me surprised.” Rodney shot John a look John couldn‘t quite decipher. “Or, you know, don‘t.” 

“I always intended to tell you, you know, once I saw that our interest was mutual.” John thought a minute. “Wait. What is it, exactly that you think you know? Because most of that was true.”

“I know your last name being Patrick is a myth. The rest of it? The ex-military hot-ass pilot thing? Plausible.”

“Do you always tailor your arguments on Mythbusters?” 

“That‘s what you choose to focus on?”

“No, you‘re right. Patrick was my father.”John waved a hand around the room. “This?” he motioned to include everything around them, “is mine.”

“Then you‘re--”

“John Sheppard, yes.” 

“And here I made that crack about how stupid and funny the name _Sea Sheppard_ is. I‘m surprised you didn‘t belt me.” 

“Actually, it just made me want to kiss you. Well, more than I already wanted.”

“That‘s just--remarkably forgiving of you, considering.”

“Considering _I_ suggested the name as a joke…” 

“That’s quite the combination of brilliant and idiotic.”

“Just to be clear, I’m not the idiot in the equation, right?”

“No, but I may rethink things if you don’t follow through on your stated intentions, and kiss me.”

“I have no problem with that, at all,” John said, making good on his promise.


End file.
